


Space Travels In My Blood

by MoonGalleon22



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Autistic Futaba, Autistic Meltdown, Bisexual Female Character, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Misunderstandings, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sitcom Arch-Nemesis to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonGalleon22/pseuds/MoonGalleon22
Summary: After certain events make them clash, The Hermit and The Emperor strike a deal of their own; for the sake of the team, they will learn to understand each other. Have they set an insurmountable task, or will they find they come to more than just an understanding?





	1. Long journeys wear me out

**Author's Note:**

> I've returned from the dead to try and write fanfic lmao
> 
> I've not really attempted a long-running project like this in a LONG time, having sort of just...decided they weren't for me? That I can only do short pieces because anything longer and I run out of steam? But I don't want to be that sort of writer anymore, so I'm doing my best to write every day and get this thing done.
> 
> It's a Yutaba fic because somehow I've fallen into this ship and I can't get out of it whoops. I haven't really seen any long-running fics for this ship - a few one-shots, yeah, but so far no soap opera length epics. I'd like to give it a whirl anyway.
> 
> Some major notes are that I'm going to be changing the tags as I go along, so I'll add more once background ships and themes become clear. Also, while I've tagged it with all variations of the protagonist's name, I've given Ren/Akira his own name in this: Sentarou Kaneyuki. My partner came up with it for his first playthrough of the game, and it contains the characters for "money" and "gold".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futaba conquers an obstacle with the help of an irritant (and friend).

September 1st, 20XX

 

                Futaba Sakura was in the zone that day.

She always felt awake and alive the minute she became Alibaba and started speaking in that other language that so few people understood. In the cognitive world, thoughts became reality and it was the same online; for both, she slipped on a costume and a new name and changed reality with her words. She hadn’t been as exposed to the Metaverse yet as she wanted to be (how SF was that name, anyway? She could spend hours breaking down all the different meanings of each syllable), but the taste of it she’d had – suspended in her own field of gravity, protected and protector – reminded her so much of her online self that she had immediately fallen in love.

At that moment however, she was Alibaba, and Alibaba, glorious thief that he was, was preparing a lock-pick for his new friends as a gift. Before, his usual habit would be in trying to steal as much information as he could about cognitive psience. He’d already tried every source he could; the medical journals he knew his mother had liked, the journals he knew she submitted work to, even classified networks; still, he found nothing. It occurred to him that maybe the old copies of the magazines were stored somewhere in some dusty bookshop, or deep in a relative’s attic behind the Christmas decorations, but whether he’d be able to get his hands on any of those, he’d never know. The archives had been wiped, but that wasn’t the interesting part – that was looking into the code and seeing the eraser marks through the text, hunting for whatever fragments may have remained. It took a thief to know a thief and see the signs of thievery for what they were … but today, he thought that it would be better if he tried another source. The tool he was crafting needed to be adapted and improved if he was going to get the information he wanted with it, after all, and while not a complex job, it was time consuming. He’d been going for hours and could go on for many more if he needed.

It wasn’t a surprise, then, that it took such an embarrassingly long time for him to notice his phone had been blowing up with texts.

Alibaba felt his phone vibrate against his hand and Futaba was abruptly brought back to Earth, a frustrated groan working its way through her teeth. She saved what she’d done - she was pretty much finished by that point as it was - and glanced at the screen, reading:

_New Text Log: I’ve been outside your house…_

_Holy shit, someone at the door?_ Futaba shut up shop and started giving her phone her full attention, frowning as she read the name. Six texts within the past hour, all of them from _him_ , of all people - the hell could he want now?

                Inari: _Hello, this is Yusuke. The others wanted to meet up in Shibuya today, and I got out of school early; I thought it would be best to escort you to the meet-up so we could get there on time._

                Inari: _Okay, I’m outside._

                Inari: _I’ve just checked LeBlanc and you’re not there. Are you okay?_

                Inari:  _Are you home? I swear I can hear someone in the house right now._

                Inari:  _Futaba, can you seriously not hear me knocking?_  

                Inari:  _I’ve been outside your house for fifteen minutes now, I confess this is getting ridiculous._

It was then that she remembered; the meet-up! Futaba typed out a response and got her bag ready in record time, chucking the memory stick into her bag and practically jumping down the stairs and throwing open the door. The man who’d been leaning next to it gave a start.

“I don’t think you quite understand how aggravating it is for me to send several full-length messages, only to receive mere letters in reply,” Yusuke said, practically looking down his nose at her, though, to his credit, the height difference made it all too easy to do. “The letter ‘k’ does not constitute a proper response, Futaba. Please do take that into consideration.”

“Silencio, old man,” she grumbled, suppressing a smile as his expression grew more indignant.

“Old? I’ll have you know I’m the youngest Phantom Thief,” he said, starting to walk away from her. “Aside from you, of course.”

“Whaaaat? But you’re like ten feet tall! How is that fair?!” Futaba exclaimed, noticing the vaguely smug look on his face. She started to follow him, having to squint up into the light to properly face him.

“I believe even you know that ten feet would be an overestimation by far. I happen to be 178 centimetres tall, although I _do_ suppose that would seem much taller from where you’re standing…” Yusuke looked down at her, not at all watching where he was going. “Hmm, if I were to guess…” he muttered, his brows furrowing in thought, “You would be one hundred and…fifty centimetres?”

Futaba grinned. He didn’t need to know she was really 149cm at best. “… Yes, that’s exactly how tall I am … not bad, Inari. Hey, maybe you’re like the Luigi to Sentarou’s Red Luigi, yeah? Young but tall is good!”

Yusuke seemed to chuckle to himself, looking ahead again. “I can’t say that I understand what you’re talking about, but I can perhaps see a compliment in there.” He looked back at her, frowning now. “Can you please keep pace?”

She glowered at his freakish beanpole legs and rolled her eyes. “Urgh, I take it all back. So, what’s the plan? You’re taking me on the train, yeah?” Futaba sniped back, glaring up at him through her eyebrows as much as she could manage.

Yusuke sighed, all drama and exaggerated woe. “Sadly, yes. No other means of transport remain open to us, after all.”

“IDK; I could pester Sojiro and get him to drive us.”

“… Allow me to rephrase: I already spent food money on our tickets. Like it or not, you’re coming with me.”

“Shouldn’t it be ‘dead or alive?’”

“Indeed. Come now; if we dawdle, we’ll be late.”

He was off again, striding ahead with those damned _legs_ of his, before Futaba could think of a clever come-back. She walked behind him as swiftly as she could, but frankly, keeping up with him was the biggest work-out she’d had in a while.

Finding seats on the near-empty train, the silence quickly smothered them both, the only sound being the clatter of the train shooting down the tracks. Yusuke looked around him like he was trying to scan for something new, regardless of the fact that he must have read every advert in the train car by now. He seemed to forget that she was there for a while, lost as he was in his own imaginings. Folded as small as she could be into the seat beside him, she studied his profile, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t actually been alone with him before now. Even as she raised herself ever-so-subtly in her seat to get a closer look, he didn’t at all notice.

This boy needs to eat more, was all she thought at first. She’d joked about him being so gangly in comparison to their leader that he must have been drawn out like toffee, but the sharpness of his cheeks and the delicacy of his wrists made him seem almost hollowed out to her. She’d heard his voice before she saw his face, and at first thought that there was a mismatch, his rich baritone not suiting him. Looking at him now, though, she would never have guessed that he really was just a year older than her. What she _did_ know was that there was something about him that felt familiar to her – he’d said she “marched to the beat of her own drum”, but from what she had seen that statement could have applied to him as well, very easily.

She remembered him ruining her darling children and fumed … and yet, he had sounded legitimately interested in hearing her explain exactly why he’d been so terribly wrong, and he seemed to get it in the end. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe. And of course, he had fought as hard as the others did to save her, put his life on the line to destroy that monstrous sphynx…

She wondered if they could be friends … if he wasn’t such an irritating asshole, that is.

Her thoughts were scattered when she felt the pressure change in her ears as the train burst into a new stop, squealing to a halt. The doors opened, and let more people on board.

Futaba flinched and crouched lower in her seat, as if her knees could shield her from the noise and the stifling heat. She only vaguely noticed Yusuke turning his head to look at her, eyebrows raised; her eyes stung too much, remembering having to take this exact train the night before. She knew how to take the train, she’d gone to the beach … but after the day before, she hesitated. She remembered how loud the electronic shop had been, how bustling with people, and the train journey there hadn’t been too kind on her either. The train from Yongen-Jaya had begun its journey near-empty, but she knew it would fill out even more the further along the line they went …

“Are you all right?” she heard him say in that surprisingly delicate tone she had heard him use before, when they were all crammed into her room, waiting for her to bare her heart to them.

She didn’t know if she liked it or hated it, hearing it now.

“F…Fine!” she squeaked, before opening her eyes and looking up at him. Seeing the sympathy there tipped her over into anger. “I’m fine! No worries!” she growled, straightening up and attempting a smile. She’d have no problem outpacing him, she thought, the second the doors opened at their destination – he’d have to run to catch her. She imagined him bounding after her like an gazelle and the thought made her smile for real.

The panic returned with the groan and clack of the train doors shutting behind them, and she darted her eyes around as people came in and crowded around her seat.

Yusuke asked her bluntly, “Is there anything I can do to ease your discomfort?”

She gave him a side-eye and ducked her head against her legs again, hugging them closer. “You can help by shutting up, Inari. I don’t need you patronising me the whole way there.”

Yusuke turned to her, glaring. “You’re being exceptionally difficult today, do you realise that?”

 _Okay, uncalled for much?_ “If you think I’m difficult you could have played the game on easy and just let me do this alone!”

“I didn’t want to risk you getting into some kind of trouble, so soon after your training. Is that a problem?” he asked, his brow creasing almost comically. For someone who was usually so languid and quiet, he certainly lacked patience.

“No, it’s not, but I don’t need-!” she started, pausing when a pair of legs jostled in front of her seat, closing off any escape. She took a shaky breath in and retreated as far into her seat as she could go, her hands clamping down on her headphones. “Sorry,” she quietly added.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked, winding down somewhat. He glanced around the carriage. “I can’t blame you for finding this to be too crowded.”

She could feel him go still beside her and look her over, and when he started to rummage around in his pockets, she watched him over her knees, her curiosity failing to quell the rising tide of fear in her.

She started and gave a yelp when his slender fingers dipped into one of her pockets instead.

“What the hell, Inari!” Futaba cried, not noticing the stares it got them. Dangling from his fingers was the jack that led up to the headphones she desperately pressed down on, and before she could protest, he clipped it into his brick-like excuse of a phone.

A short, sharp moment passed, in which Futaba debated with herself whether to smash his face in, or just leave it as a verbal beat-down – a debate won for her when music began to hum in her ears.

It wasn’t anything she’d heard before; if she were honest with herself, it wasn’t the kind of music she expected Yusuke to listen to either. If she’d had to guess, it would have been western classical, or something with a lot of shamisen or fue – something calm, no vocals to interrupt his creative genius. Instead, this had the twang of guitars and clapping percussion, and when the vocals finally cut in, they sang in English.

Her hands slowly dropped as he adjusted the volume, the sound soon drowning out the din of the train. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she tried to really listen to it – it wasn’t really her sort of music either, but something about it got the gears turning in her head. Minutes passed, and as the song ended, she felt her heart rate had slowed, almost to what it was before boarding – she looked at him, finally, and saw his face had this subtle smile – stoic as he could be, she thought that maybe he was happy, having shown her this.

Something truly clicked in her head then, coming to an understanding; she opened her mouth to say something when the train ground to a stop, and Yusuke unceremoniously yanked the jack from his phone again.

“We’re here. The meeting spot isn’t too far from here – shall we?”

He’d already stood, seeming to tower above her now. She blinked, and finally noticed his hand, held out for her to take; his palms felt rougher than she thought they would as she tugged herself upright, the two of them dashing off the train together.

“Fine, but I’m not the one who needs to go faster, Inari,” she said, grinning up at him; the thought she’d had about him settled firmly in place and she remembered Fox’s wide collar blocking the sun from his neck and the crisp boots pounding on sun-seared stone. “Race me?” she added, before running off, his hand almost sliding from hers from the sweat coating her palms. He gave a yelp of indignation, his feet coming to a light jog behind her.

It was only in the crisp light of the walkway that Futaba realised she was still holding his hand, and pulled away as if he’d scalded her.

Stupid asshole Inari, _honestly_.

 

September 2nd, 20XX

 

                Futaba had been home for hours by the time she sent Yusuke the text.

It had been so long since she had anyone _to_ text – Alibaba had some people he chatted to online, sure, but it was still so easy to close himself off from them when they knew nothing but what he told them. Futaba could hide behind him, be emotionally distant, and she pretended it was fine while the hallucinations got worse and worse.

Now, though, her phone had five extra numbers in it; so far, only one had really been used. Texting Sentarou Kaneyuki was just as easy as talking to him, and just as easy as typing for her – nothing got stuck on the way from her brain to her mouth and the things that got jumbled or lost just seemed to make him smile somehow. He seemed to honestly listen to what she had to say and when he spoke, it was quiet, measured … kind, even. So few people had thought to treat her with kindness in recent years, bar Sojiro, that it warmed her heart to even see him now.

She’d only known him for a few weeks at best and yet he had somehow managed to be one of the best things to ever happen to her.

Staring at her phone, however, she decided to acknowledge another truth: the other Phantom Thieves were also being very good to her, even if they hadn’t clicked quite like Sentarou had. Patronising as it was, their “training” had helped her; even Yusuke’s attempt at helping her travel to the underpass that day had helped her in its own way.

So surely some kind of thank you was needed, right? Some kind of acknowledgement that she saw what he did and was thankful in some way? He’d looked so … well, she _wanted_ to say happy, but she couldn’t quite tell - showing her his music, and it had gone a long way in helping with her nerves …

She just needed to talk to him like a normal human and she had it made. She typed and re-typed her message about five times before, twenty minutes after she’d finished typing it, she took a deep breath and pressed send.

                Futaba: _Wow, Inari, I looked at the lyrics of that song you made me listen to._

                Futaba: “ _I’m not talkin’ ‘bout your pigtails, I’m talkin’ ‘bout your sex appeal_?” _Pervert Inari._

It was Inari, after all – he’d be expecting light-hearted belligerence, surely? Although rereading it, she could see that he might not read it that way. She quickly tapped away at a defusing comment, but not before he could respond.

                Inari: _Oh? Is that what it was saying? Thank you for letting me know. I can understand some of it by itself, but not all of it. Do people really take the time to translate these things?_

She sighed, honestly unsure of what to make of him at this point. It didn’t surprise her to think that he wouldn’t know about these things, but it did surprise her that he hadn’t seemed to be insulted by her. What irritated him? What didn’t? Talking to him felt a lot more dangerous than it was with Sentarou, and she felt uncertainty burning the back of her skull.

                Futaba: _Well yeah, and it’s not too hard to look this stuff up. Here:_

She sent him the lyric translations she’d found, and threw in a few other videos she’d found of similar tracks – she’d spent a good half hour scrolling through the best of Dottify’s suggestions and while it wasn’t really her thing, she could imagine him jamming away to it. He sent her a single “?” in response and she grinned.

                Futaba: _You like all that sort of stuff, don’t you? That rockabilly sort of music. I thought there was something weirdly Western about Fox!_

A good five minutes passed before her phone buzzed again.

                  Inari: _You’re the only one who’s noticed that._

Futaba stared at the screen for longer than was probably recommended for her health, her heart feeling strangely … fuzzy? She wasn’t sure what the feeling rising in her chest was, but it just might have been pride. He continued where he’d left off, oblivious to her mixed feelings.

             Inari: _Yes, despite the mask, sash and tail...the jacket and boots inhabit a rockabilly aesthetic. I suppose it’s because it feels like a rebellion, contrasting to the aesthetics and values I was raised with?_

She frowned, thinking about the brief snippets she’d been able to read about the Madarame case – the image it conjured made her think of her uncle, and she shuddered, eager to change the subject.

                  Futaba: _Yeah, makes sense – I heard about you having a yukata? Classy stuff._

                  Inari: _Less_ _so than the ladies accompanying us._

Futaba snickered to herself; he certainly wouldn’t be wrong about that. Picturing Ann and Makoto in cute yukatas made her face heat up. Still, she thought of what he might look too, all willowy and delicate …  

                  Futaba: _Dude, you’re like a manga-quality bishōnen; you probably turned some heads._

Her face went from pink to scarlet at the implications. He did NOT need some extra reason to be a weirdo around her.

                  Futaba: _Not mine, though, noah fence._

There was no hesitation in his reply at all.

                  Inari: _As if I have any desire to ‘turn any heads’ with **anything** but my art!_

                  Futaba: _Mwehehe. Was that a critical hit I just scored?_

                  Inari: _Not at all. And who would this “noah” be, anyway??_

 _Oh man, the phrase “rofl” was made for moments like this._ She geared to strike again when he managed to freeze her in place.

                  Inari: _Speaking of weaknesses, I do believe you would benefit from more “training”. Would you be adverse to the idea of me raising this with the others?_

Why where her hands shaking? He’d seen her at her most desperate and fragile, and yet she physically cringed at the idea of goddamn _Inari_ seeing her in that kind of state again. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen anymore – she’d get better and the only people who’d see that side of her in the future would be her sort-of father and her key item.

She typed out her answer, trying to keep her hand steady.

                  Futaba: _No, I’ve got my promise list. I’m working on it!_

                  Inari: _Promise list?_

Of course he wouldn’t know what that was. Describing it to him as briefly as she could, it occurred to her how typical of her mother the whole “promise list” idea is; it’s a simple habit-building list of tasks with a reward at the end, psychologically _very_ useful in training people to improve themselves (especially if it’s to get them to remember to load the dishwasher every evening). Even for something so clinical, it warms her heart to think of it.

For long minutes, Yusuke didn’t respond, until finally:

                  Inari: _Would you like me to help you?_

She wasn’t sure why that made her smile.

                  Futaba: _Nah, Joker has me covered._

                  Inari: _Perhaps he does, but I have a proposal for you that may aid in preparing you for the first item on your list._

_Oh? This should be good._

                 Futaba: _What’s that?_

                Inari: _I have been meaning to return to the planetarium for a week or so now – I feel that, thanks to our leader’s kindness and perseverance, I have made something of a breakthrough in my artistic endeavours and I would like to test this by returning to a place that I find inspiring. Would you like to come with me?_

                 Futaba: _Why’d I want to do with you? Sounds like you get a lot more out of that than I would._

               Inari: _It’s the perfect practice for item one – ‘get used to crowds.’ It would not be as crowded as many other meeting locations and the display itself requires a measure of quiet – however, you would still have to face travelling there and being outside. Plus, your persona indicates to me that you would like space._

Not even a few months ago, this would have been impossible for her to consider, but she couldn’t deny his logic or the earnest sympathy behind it. She was typing out her response without even thinking about it.

              Futaba: _I do like me some space, you got me there._

              Futaba: _I’m in._

              Inari: _Excellent! I shall message you when I am next free. Have a good night!_

              Futaba: _You too, Inari – make like a badger and hibernate already!_

              Inari: _???_

Conversation over, she put her phone down and sighed, tiredness kicking in and propelling her flat on the bed. Glancing at the clock, it read 00:24 – why was she so tired when it was so damn _early?_ And didn’t Yusuke have school in the morning?! Her curiosity didn’t last through her getting up and turning off the lights – she wasn’t really one to judge someone for getting too involved in hobbies, only to end up watching the sunrise.

That night, though, she counted the stars on her wall and comforted herself with the thought of seeing real ones soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was like pulling teeth - I'm so out of practice, and this wasn't the bit I was super looking forward to writing about? So I had to power on through it and I feel so victorious rn.
> 
> I think what also made this chapter hard is knowing that a fair number of Yutaba fics have used that one train journey as a basis for their fics? Not to say that they're bad or anything like that, just that I'm aware that I'm not necessarily adding anything new here with this introductory chapter. This and chapter 2 were originally going to be planned as just one chapter, but that would have been truly massive.


	2. Say Hello My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futaba and Yusuke make fools of themselves and partners out of each other.

Monday, September 5th , 20XX.

 

Futaba glared at the phone on the table in front of her, waiting impatiently for Yusuke’s text.

Just the day before, she’d texted her Key Item, and thanks to his assistance, she’d braved Akihabara once more. She refused to let it taunt her a second time; thus, after managing to endure the Three Terabyte War, she emerged victorious! She crossed off the first item on her promise list, mere days after writing it; remembering that she’d still promised to meet up with Yusuke, she merely smiled, knowing that she would be able to defeat the planetarium with total ease, regardless of how badly Inari’s terrible manners could ruin it.

She was ready - _more than_ _ready,_ even. She was like one of those gladiators a few minutes before they beat the shit out of someone with a foam bat, that’s how ready she was.

The phone gave a loud buzz and made her leap out of her skin.

 _Inari_ : Am I right in thinking that our trip is no longer required?

She would have wondered who’d told him that if she hadn’t gotten the impression that Sentarou, for all his sweetness, consideration and incredible stoicism could be kind of a gossipy bitch at times. He’d already told her all about some of his adult friends that he had outside The Phantom Thieves, keeping them all abreast of who they are and what they do for the team; she wasn’t sure they all needed to know about that time the alcoholic journalist (who writes nice things and made him some drag queen friends) took him on a fake date to the beach, or how he received the goose boat from that scary gun shop man (who looks like Jason Statham and is apparently a good dad?), but Sentarou assured them that it was vital info and they did their best to believe him (and even if it wasn’t … wasn’t it all really interesting?).

 _Futaba_ : Why, do you need a reason to hang out with me?

 _Inari_ : No, but considering that I had to convince you that it would be a good idea …

Did he really think she’d be unwilling to spend time with him? Sure, Sentarou had helped her fight the Three Terabyte War, but she thought about maybe having to go to even busier places all by herself and it made her shiver – there was no way she had the EXP for that. Even if it was Inari rather than her Key Item helping her … well, surely it’d be interesting to see how it’ll turn out with someone else, right? She remembered being on the beach with the girls, her face reddening a little as she did; yes, she could maybe spend more time with the others …

 _Futaba_ : I’m still game! Let’s think of it as grinding, so I don’t become under-levelled.

 _Inari_ : Are you sure? I would have no issue if you wished to postpone, or even cancel, this trip.

 _What’s he so worried about? If I didn’t wanna go, I’d say so!_ She thought, typing out her response without a second thought.

 _Futaba_ : Dude, I WANT to go out with you. I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided it’ll be fun dungeon crawling with you!

 _Futaba_ : And definitely a breeze after yesterday’s success! So it’s fine.

A suspiciously long pause followed, the ellipsis appearing and disappearing on her phone screen a few times before he sent his response.

 _Inari_ : Is that so? If that’s the case, may I pick you up after school? Unless, of course, you wanted to get there ahead of me and gloat.

 _Futaba_ : Nah, me? Gloat? You’re imagining things, Inari. I’m game for taking the train with you again if you are.

 _Inari_ : I’m going to ignore that you called me that again and go back to class – I shall see you later today.

Futaba giggled to herself, actually looking forward to leaving the house again. Since her change of heart, she’d started to appreciate little things that she hadn’t realised she was missing before; like the feel of pavement under her shoes, fresh air cooling the sweat on her brow, the harsh illumination of natural light. She hadn’t imagined, even a month before, that she would ever go to a planetarium again in her lifetime, let alone that she would be going with someone resembling a friend.

Every item she ticked off that list made her feel all the more like the suffering might all be gone; waiting for Yusuke to arrive, her feet swung in wide arcs under her seat.

When the front door bell finally rang – she actually heard it this time – she managed to restrain herself from bolting out of her room and jumping down the stairs three at a time, but only just about. He was leaning next to the door, just as he was only a few days before – oh, how she’d changed, even in that short a space of time! – and he wasn’t nearly as frightened when she threw the door open.

On the contrary, he seemed … she didn’t know, but there was something amiss.

His eyes seemed to be studying her face when he turned to her, before a smile finally appeared. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Yusuke said, his usual formality highlighted somehow. Futaba’s brows furrowed for a moment, before she shrugged.

“It’s no big deal; you have school, it’s not like you could go back in time to get here earlier. Like _The Bicycle That Drove Through Time_! I mean, it’d be cool if you COULD do that, but …” she said, her nerves starting to spark.

He gave a chuckle and immediately Futaba felt the familiar fog of confusion roll in. Inari actually laughed at something she said! Something that _wasn’t even meant to be funny!_ Was this good?

_Maybe he’s just one of those people who likes referential humour? Who knows?_

She thought for a moment that she hadn’t really heard him laugh all that much. She looked at his face and caught his eye, seeing he was frowning at her, his lips finally stopping their movement; she looked at her feet, her face turning red.

He’d been talking, she hadn’t been listening, and he knew it.

“Sorry. We go?” she muttered towards the ground, hearing him hum in affirmation. She watched his feet pivot and walk away and she followed him as closely as she could. Already she was feeling bad; her mood had crashed somehow, and she wasn’t sure whether it would come back by the time they reached their goal.

Neither of them said anything on their way to the station, her eyes still cast down – it was only when she just managed to avoid walking into a lamppost ( _again,_ stupid things, she always did this) that she felt his gaze fixed on her.

In the small alleyway leading to the station platform, she finally dared to look up at him and saw those eyes, dark and intense, not caring if they looked through hers.

“Okay?” she asked, not sure what she was trying to get reassurance on.

“I …” he started, watching her closely. Yusuke finally seemed to relax, even if it was just by a degree or two. “Yes, I’m okay. Are you all right?”

Futaba thought for a moment, shrugged. “Yeah…just have to defeat the train! I’d forgotten all about it.”

She had, at that – and the journey would be much longer than the usual one to Shibuya, she realised with growing dread. She sighed as they reached the platform, trying her utmost to push down the ever-increasing desire to plant herself back at home and never emerge again.

Thankfully, Yusuke seemed at least a little sympathetic. “Do you need this again?” he said, retrieving his phone from his pocket and giving it a brief wave.

She shook her head, raising and waving her own. “I remembered to put some songs on it this time.” She heard the by-now familiar noise of the train thundering down the tracks towards them and took a deep breath in through her nose. “Well,” she said on the exhale, “let’s see how we go? I might be a bit quiet on the way there.”

Yusuke smiled at her, and for a moment she thought that she could relax. The train doors opened, no seats available, crushing that thought before it could fully bloom.

For the second time within a week, Futaba found herself on a packed train with Yusuke – unlike the first time, she found herself standing and having to lean on him for support. Every time a new person approached, she felt herself shrink closer into him, sickness rising in her throat. At least when she was sitting, there was a support there – a feeling like she could retreat somewhere. When standing, though, the heat generated by the press of bodies made her swelter, her fear rising; every accidental touch like a thump to the ribs.

She turned up her music and closed her eyes, her hands gripping Yusuke’s shirt like it was an anchor in a sea of solar noise.

She wasn’t at all sure how to feel, squashed up against the beanpole like that. If he had been her Key Item, sure – she’d started to get used to Sentarou, knew that his presence had some way of calming her down like magic. She remembered that first disastrous trip to Akihabara and her face warmed up, just from that; Sentarou was so ludicrously warm, but not in a bad way …

 _Calm down_ , he always said, smooth and relaxed. Briefly it occurred to her that it was something he said to himself all the time, but she stamped the thought down with immediate discomfort.

Calm down, take your time. Music loud in her ears, the stiff fabric of Yusuke’s shirt between her fingers, her eyes closed and breathing steady … she was a veteran of crowds and she could handle this.

She then almost jumped out of her skin for the second time that day when she felt long, slender hands clamp over her earphones and apply pressure; jerking her head up and back, she saw Yusuke look down at her, his own cheeks slightly pink.

Without thinking, her hands moved to – she wasn’t sure what, but one thumped against his chest and the other sent his elbow veering off into a train window, a sharp “No!” lancing out of her mouth on instinct alone. The general murmur of the train car increased in volume, just about audible behind her music, but she couldn’t focus on it; Yusuke’s shocked face took up her view. She could see he was trying to speak and, begrudgingly, she paused the song to hear him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “I thought … you looked uncomfortable with the noise again … ”

Oh, how she hated her own murky swamp of a brain sometimes.

 _Do I look like I’m comfortable with sudden touch, then?!_ She thought, her shaking hands going to turn the volume of her music up even more, her ears starting to hurt from it. _Calm down_ , she thought in Sentarou’s silky feline voice, _take your time_.

Those words must have gone through hundreds of repetitions by the time they finally, finally reached their destination, Yusuke getting her attention with a brisk tap to her shoulder. He didn’t say anything about how she’d started migrating closer and closer to him again regardless, her eyes squeezed shut and her breath coming in slow, deliberate drags.

They walked to the planetarium in silence and she took the time to recover from the train as much as possible; the breeze on her face and the crunch of that pretentious gravel arrangement that places like this have somehow helped her, until finally she switched her music off and turned to Yusuke.

“All right, I think I’m back in action,” she proclaimed, pumping her fist in the air. “Now let’s do some space!”

Yusuke almost seemed - surprised? Sad? Annoyed? – Well, he sure seemed to be feeling _something_ when she spoke, as if he weren’t expecting her to. “Of course. I’ll lead the way, as I’ve been here before recently – there are so many fascinating parts to the current presentation I can tell you about … ” he said, striding far too ahead in front.

 _Urgh, I hope he doesn’t do this the whole trip_ , she griped to herself, imagining him almost racing ahead of her while pretending she didn’t exist – or, even worse, start talking to himself rather than to her. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

He led her through the entrance (she paid, while he mumbled about brushes and green beans) and as they stepped into the dark auditorium, she couldn’t help but gasp at the beauty of it.

A cosmic sea rolled above their heads, generated by projectors as if by magic; too many to really see individually, but close enough that you could pick out constellations if you squinted hard enough. She knew that the colours and auras enveloping the audience in a blue light were, perhaps, exaggerated from what it really looked like, but she honestly didn’t care.

Finding a place to sit, she barely noticed Yusuke sitting next to her, or how he tilted his torso towards her, bringing his face closer.

“Is this worth the journey, do you think?”

“I don’t know yet” she replied, raising her eyebrows at him. “Why, you think it will be?”

Yusuke chuckled at that and Futaba ducked down in her seat by a fraction as she felt little puffs of his breath on her face. “I would certainly like it to be, yes.” He backed off slightly, his eyes glancing to the side. “I apologise for…” he began to say, the speakers roaring to life and cutting him off.

Futaba leant forward in her seat, listening as the voice described the compositions of the galaxy, how the milky way was formed and how so many of these stars are now long-dead; all these stars, swimming before her eyes, her head already able to calculate the angle and distance between each one.

It was appropriate that she got to see this so soon after meeting them all, she found herself thinking. Before, trapped in the darkness of the tomb she’d locked herself in, Futaba ruled over her own space as pharaoh, seeing nothing but four walls and fake stars; now, the stars were…still fake, admittedly, but the walls had expanded so vastly it was as if a new universe full of potential had exploded into creation, filling the void of his life with endless potential.

There were two voices now, one booming yet serene as it described how the cosmos was put together (although whether through the hands of God or chance was anyone’s guess); the other was also dark and soothing, speaking vaguely about beauty and the meaning behind it. Both of them blended together, her brain able to pick out only bits and pieces of both, but it was okay, really – just the sight made her feel that she wasn’t really missing much.

Science and beauty, what a delight!

The show ended, Futaba stretching her legs out and her arms behind her head, making a small grunt as the joints all clicked. “Well, Inari, I gotta say that was nice! Is there another show, or are we done?” she asked, finally turning her attention to the man beside her.

To Yusuke’s completely stunned face, almost … irritated?

“Unbelievable,” was all he said, a small laugh huffing out of him. He stood up and shot her a glare, those damn legs allowing him to be at the exit doors by the time Futaba was able to collect her bag from the floor and chase after him. He stopped walking when she planted her hand solidly on his sleeve; she could feel his gaze on her again, as if she were something unpleasant lurking in his fridge.

“We are done here; I’m going home,” he said, curt and clipped.

“Oookay? I’ll walk you outside,” Futaba offered, that familiar fog of confusion and nerves starting to roll in yet again.

“You don’t – how do you not? – what did I just say, before we left our seats?”

“Hm, you said…oh…” she thought aloud, the realisation clicking into place. One of those voices had been his and she hadn’t really taken in anything he’d said to her during the past … however long the show took. Two hours? “Erm…listening?”

“Before that?”

“Not?”

“Before _that_?”

“You’re?”

He hissed out a breath from between clenched teeth, his whole posture radiating frustration. “You are absolutely ridiculous and I’m leaving,” he announced, turning away from her and bursting through the exit doors like an opera singer coming onto a stage.

She caught up with him again, her own form of irritation starting to bubble up inside her. “Jeez, Inari, what’s gotten into you? You’re acting like a major tsundere right now.”

“ _Are you actually being serious right now?_ ” he snapped, the sharp edge of his voice cutting Futaba’s spirits. “I had thought your shadow was enough of a tsundere,” he continued, leaning forward, his voice low (he very much wasn’t going to be like Ryuji over this), “but it appears you carry the trait over into the real world as well.”

He straightened up again, giving her a little bit more space to breath, but his presence still seemed to tower over her anyway. “First you insist that you wanted to come here with me and then … well, I understand you finding the journey to be tiring, but as a general whole, you have barely spoken a word to me all day!”

Ah, there it was, that familiar feeling of shame and fear. It filled Futaba’s chest and quickly flooded her mind too, the back of her skull feeling hot and dizzy with it. She hadn’t realised that she’d been doing it, but the second he pointed it out, she could have hit herself for being so stupid. Instead, her body seemed to fold in on itself where she stood, her eyes fixed firmly to the floor and her hands linked before her.

If Yusuke had noticed how small she had become, it didn’t stop him from picking up momentum. “I just cannot believe you would be so callous as to … to express an _interest_ in someone, simply to ignore them when it suits you! If I had wanted to be ignored all day, I would have gone with a classmate, not my supposed _teammate_.”

Those four words in her head, looming at the edge of her thoughts, threatening to burst in once more – they coagulated her shame and hardened it with pure fury at the idea that her own supposed teammate would make her feel like this.

Her Key Item would _never_. Not even the cat would be this much of an asshole, and that’s just what cats are _like_.

She looked up at him through her fringe, saw him look uncomfortable at her gaze. Good.

“How do you not understand me?” she asked, her voice quiet but shaking with supressed rage. She knew she would cry, if he shouted at her, and she didn’t care where she was; she was willing to do it.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said, looking down at her though his stupid pointy fox nose (what a shithead!). “It would be difficult for anyone to understand your behaviour right now.”

“Right back at you, you … weirdo! You were literally inside my head less than a month ago,” she started, ignoring him when he made attention-grabbing motions to shush her, “and you honestly didn’t understand a thing about me in the aftermath?!”

“You fool! You…not so loud!” he said, his face using a weird expression – she wasn’t sure if he was wounded or angry, and she didn’t much care. “And besides, I learnt plenty! Like how you push people away, and liken outsiders to bandits!”

“Oh yeah, and look at how amazingly wrong I was about that! You get in my space like it’s no big deal, you touch me without permission, you _break my things_ … you honestly think you’re right all the time when you know absolutely nothing about anything! Besides, it’s not even tsundere, that’s when someone goes between liking someone and then being _really aggressive_!” she bellowed, feeling the strain in her throat. “You talk a good game, but you’re as much of a meathead as Ryuji!”

“How could you even insinuate - !” he scoffed, offended – brilliant, Futaba thought, feeling that same adrenaline shoot through her that she’d felt sitting in that suspended cockpit.

“Ha, you’re right, you’re not like Ryuji – he at least is a nice person at the end of the day!” she fired back. It probably wasn’t fair to bring their other friends into it – Ryuji himself wouldn’t have approved in the slightest, for one – but seeing Yusuke’s face turn ashen made it worth the low blow.

_There is nothing about you that is appealing to the other sex._

Suddenly something clicked to her, the cooking hob heating her rage being turned up another few degrees. “Wait, what did you say – interest? You thought? Did you think this was a _date_?!”

Futaba knew she wasn’t very good at reading facial expressions, and Yusuke’s face tended towards being smoothly stoic, but even she could read the fuming anger and – oh, shame, there it was in him too – that cut through his tongue and broke his stare. Now it was his turn to shrink into himself, Yusuke looking anywhere but at her, one hand crossing his chest to press fingers into his shoulder blade. He glanced at her and kept opening and shutting his mouth, reminding her of some kind of clockwork animatronic; she would have smiled if it didn’t come across more like an animal bearing of teeth.

He began to say a defence, “How dare-!”, but everything came to a crash when she felt a hand fall heavily on her shoulder, her every nerve shrieking in response.

“Are you all right, little girl? Is this man bothering you?” she heard a man’s voice say, too close, _too close_ , _calm down take your time_ , a scream rose in her throat and she bit her tongue hard, focus drawn to the little points of pressure there, in her palms as she dug her nails in.

What she saw was Yusuke, his eyes fixed in her direction again, glaring daggers and hands – hands in fists, clenched tight in fists and – calmdown _takeyourtime_ – she heard him say something loud and sharp as he stepped towards her –

Before she knew it, she was bent double and howling with fear.

Futaba barely even heard herself make the noise, saw nothing but the floor as she stumbled away, practically body-slamming the strange man away from her and charging straight into a nearby pillar, slumping to the floor in a motion that felt so instinctual to her by now. Her screams blended with what she could hear and made no less sense than the voices clamouring around her, slowly turned to deep, heaving sobs as she picked herself up and tottered – somehow, barely able to see ahead of herself through her tears – further out of the hallway and out of the front entrance, coming to a stop again just to the left of the door.

Her breath and the swirling thoughts in her head – the fire in Yusuke’s eyes, those four words, fire and fists like at her uncle’s house not at her in her direction, a foreign hand on her in her ears those four _words_ , sweltering heat and stale air, calmdowntakeyourtime – were the only things she could understand, the cool air from the early evening starting to roll over her skin and into her body, the tear tracks on her cheeks starting to chill. What felt like hours passed as the fear crawled away from inside her, slowly but surely; the outside noises seemed to hush over time, her own inner voice getting louder. Calm down.

When she finally stopped crying and looked around herself, she found Yusuke there, sitting about a foot away, back propped up against the same wall she had braced herself against.

He looked out onto the horizon, fingers drumming on his knees that were sharp and bent like pyramids. He noticed the silence and closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in a slow wave.

“Have you recovered from the worst of it, Futaba? I can be quiet again for you, if it would help.” His eyelids fluttered open, eyes glancing her way. “If it helps you, that man made a rather hasty exit – I believe he learnt a lesson about interfering in other people’s disputes. He isn’t here any longer.”

It surprised her how meek a man of his confidence could sound – his stoicism taking on a new flavour that she didn’t think even he recognised that often. Futaba didn’t trust herself to speak just then, her mouth full of spit and her throat sore, so she shook her head. He hummed in recognition and a hush descended, the only sound being her deep, occasionally shaky breaths.

Eventually, Yusuke turned to face her properly. “He learnt a lesson, and so did I. Forgive me, Futaba. While we both traded insults, I started it by behaving most childishly,” he said, his eyes not meeting her face. “I should have been more patient with you. I should have …”

He paused before throwing up his hands. “I should have done a lot of things. Needless to say, this is all my fault and I apologise to you unreservedly.”

Yusuke bowed his head forward and she would have laughed at that if she didn’t still feel mildly hysterical still. What she wanted to say then was that she was still angry, still confused, still a little scared, but that she ultimately wanted to forgive him.

What she actually said, when she found the energy to, was “Bow before me on your knees, fuckboy.”

Yusuke started to laugh, caught it before it really left him and gave an undignified snort instead. Regardless, he did shift position to be on his knees, his whole body facing her now; despite his amusement, there wasn’t even the shadow of a smile on his face as he bowed, his nose almost touching the cold concrete below them.

Futaba huffed out a laugh of her own. “Yeah, yeah. At ease.”

He returned to how he was, his face still serious. “I’m always amazed at the fluidity of your emotions. You’ve gone from crying to demanding in mere minutes … although you have good reason, I suppose.” He sighed deeply, the same seriousness that she recognised now from her own palace. “Can I make this up to you?”

“Why?” she asked, the only thing she could think. “Why this?”

“Why …? Ah, you mean our argument.” His arms looped under the bend in his knees, a distortion of how she sat in chairs. “I was frustrated with you. I didn’t expect you to be your regular verbose self during our journey here, but during the presentation … I honestly thought you would be interested to hear what I had to say about my art. To find that you had not listened to a word of it …” Yusuke said morosely, his hands clutching at his elbows tightly. “… I confess, it had bothered me deeply. It did not occur to me that you would be listening more to the presentation … but then, why wouldn't you? I believe I have behaved most foolishly about this.”

Futaba stared at him now, saw how sincere he was – committed that face to memory should he make it again. She felt tears pricking behind her eyelids again, her face starting to heat up. “I’m sorry!” she said, almost a wail. “I’m sorry I screamed! I’m sorry I got angry! I messed up and hurt you and I’m sorry you feel like you have to be sorry for it!”

Futaba didn’t remember anyone talking about her or staring at her as she left the building, but she knew – the guilt and shame in her knew it without a doubt – that people were doing just that. She knew the cruel things they would be saying; she knew that when recapping this visit later, they would say it was fun up until that freakish child started hollering and causing a scene. She knew, if a witness were asked to describe their argument, they’d say that he was being reasonable and it was fine before she made a mess of it.

Yusuke, on his part, chuckled at that, not unkindly.

“Again I have to ask you, what are you apologising for?” he muttered softly, eyebrows drawn together. “I thought you did this out of malice; I caused this by not understanding your motives.”

“No, but I did ignore you, and – I guess I felt like you should have understood more. My Key Item does, and …” Futaba exclaimed, flustered – how the hell was he so _calm_ about this? “…and I thought you were being weird!”

A long pause punctuated her statement, her brain catching up to her mouth. He started laughing first, Futaba joining him once she saw him do it. Yusuke looked…well, not mad anymore. She felt her upset lift and evaporate into nothingness.

 _Yusuke has a nice laugh_ , she thought, her sides starting to hurt. Once they’d calmed down, he shifted closer to her on the pavement. His face looked like he’d just had inspiration, like it did just before they got to the auditorium.

 “How about we make a deal? Like true thieves.”

A deal? Did thieves make deals? She hadn’t been a thief long enough to know whether they did or not, but she trusted him to know more about that sort of thing than she would.

“Like my promise list, you mean?”

“Hmm? Oh, I believe the particulars of our deal should be different to what we have with Sentarou … how about this?” Yusuke said brightly; Futaba hadn’t been sure whether people’s eyes could truly glitter, but his really were, like the exact sort of bishounen he was. “This argument was caused because we misunderstood each other’s behaviour and motivations; henceforth, we will do our best to understand each other. We will take it in turns offering something to one another, so that we can learn more about each other. Regardless of if we like each other by the end of it, understanding should hopefully follow. It should benefit the deals we have with our leader, too. So what do you say?”

Futaba thought it over for a shorter amount of time than she would have assumed; yet again, his logic was fine. She couldn’t find much wrong with what he said – the only downside would be in having to spend more time with him. But if it stopped arguments like that from happening again, then …

“Hmm … so it’d be an equivalent exchange, right? So, if Sentarou is my Key Item … then you would be … Player Two!” Futaba declared, grinning.

“Player Two? I don’t follow.”

“Well, if you have more than one player, there’s Player One and Player Two – but I’m cooler than you, so I get to be Player One. We’re both in the game together, is the point!” she explained with glee. She could see why he would be upset at being ignored – she knew she could do this for hours.

“Oh, I think I understand … like partners in a creative endeavour. I like the way you think, Futaba,” he said, smiling pleasantly.

Seeing that smile directed at her made her face heat, remembering his earlier blush. “Hey, ease up on the compliments, pervert Inari. I gotta ask, did you _really_ think this was a date?”

He sighed, facepalming. “Again, I reiterate that I had misunderstood your motivations. You had said ‘I want to go out with you’ and I thought … I suppose I thought, why not? You are my friend; if I wanted to experiment with dating, I would like it to be with someone I already know.” He blushed as well and she noticed how it crept up his surprisingly pointy ears. “I mean I was taken aback at how … _forward_ that had sounded, but even so …”

Futaba cackled and slapped his back with a joyous wave. “Oh, Inari, if I wanted to date you I’d be a lot clearer than that! Pervert Inari. But I can see how that’d make me look weirder.” She held out her other hand, though, Yusuke’s eyes darting from the extended palm to her face.

“Your idea doesn’t sound that bad at all, Inari.  I think we have ourselves a deal.” She held out her hand and he shook it firmly, smiling.

She thought she felt a slight tingle in her hand, like a static shock sparking across her forearm; she would forget it as soon as she got home.

She stood up and he followed her, brushing off the backs of his trousers as he went.

“Well, our business for the day has formally been concluded – food?” she asked, seeing his expression turn ravenous.

“ _Please_ ,” he requested; she grinned at hearing how much like begging it was.

“Now then, let’s make like a Transmorpher, and roll out!” With an enthusiastic bound, Futaba strode off, not waiting for him to catch up. She turned the deal over in her head again, ideas already pulsing through her mind.

Understanding, huh? If Yusuke needed repeated playthroughs in order to get all the secrets, she supposed she couldn’t begrudge him that.

Futaba strode off into the fading light, smiling when she heard his footsteps fall into the same rhythm by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE FUCKOS! I must say I deeply appreciate the comments people have made on this. I appreciate the comments people have left on all of my fics before, but it helped to see them. The idea that people like my writing really warms me inside, so thank you very much for that.
> 
> This chapter was one of the most difficult things I've ever written, purely because I've been so aware of how the conflict in this chapter is the basis of the entire fic. Like the whole rest of this thing hinges on this argument and this deal - that is a LOT of pressure to put on one chapter. As well as that, I went on holiday, so all my good habits and resolutions that I made this year kind of went out the window for a few weeks. I actually feel really proud that I got this done! Thank fuck!
> 
> Despite my endeavouring to make the chapter titles all references to things (usually songs but not always) that reference space or the heavens, the chapter title here is from the The Spook School song "Friday Night", a song about going on a date while having anxiety: 'We weren't off to a brilliant start/ when you didn't say hello, my heart/ was ricocheting off my ribs like a bloody pulsing pinball.' They're such a good queer punk band and I heartily recommend them okay.
> 
> My best beloved has been proofreading and reviewing this fic as I go despite how this is so not his ship (he doesn't hate it I don't think, but he doesn't really see it either), so many thanks to him too! He keeps trying to get me to indent my paragraphs though and I think last chapter showed how tricky that is to do on AO3 (or at least, I don't know how best to do that), so that particular formatting style is going to be dropped for now. I'll do SOMETHING similar with the texts though, just to make them stand out.
> 
> Lastly, this is partly based on my own experiences as an autistic person. I haven't had a proper screaming meltdown in years but I don't handle public transport well to this day; I tried to describe how I get on the London Underground as closely as I could (it's very hot and loud and suffocating, I wouldn't recommend it). I've seen a lot of people depict Yusuke putting his hands over Futaba's headphones as a way of helping her deal with sensory overload and that makes me incredibly happy inside because my partner does that with me and I love it; however, at this stage in their friendship, I didn't think she'd be comfortable being touched like that out of nowhere. Maybe later on, though ... >:3c


	3. Could Be Honeycomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futaba is bombarded by texts from a certain loser, and thinks about a different, cooler loser.

Saturday, 10th September, 20XX

Futaba had been just about ready to take a break during day three of Doing Nothing But Research, stretching her back out like Makoto had told her to, when her phone buzzed.

As carefully as she could manage, she picked her phone up off the computer desk, doing her best not to disturb the cat curled up in her lap. Morgana had been keeping her company since the others left for their trip and she had loved the feel of him on her lap and his fur under her fingers, his warmth permeating through to her skin, but truth be told he had been almost as melancholy as she had been Before. She didn’t know if her presence made it better or worse; the least she could do was let him rest as well as he could.

Checking the screen, she saw Yusuke’s name appear and a strange feeling ran through her; she remembered distantly the rumble across her palm when she took his hand, remembered more clearly the anger in his eyes and tension in his muscles.

Thought more confidently of his glittering eyes crinkling at the edges, their paired satisfaction at a problem solved. She relaxed, and chuckled; Yusuke was in for a very nasty phone bill soon. She read the messages through and thought that maybe she could help him pay for it.

 **Inari:** I wish I could show you the sky right now.

 **Inari:** I’m not even certain of what time it is where you are; you might be asleep by now. It might be morning. Who knows?

 **Inari:** I am waiting for the light to change so that I can paint, but the sky is simply magnificent as it is.

 **Inari:** I do so wish I could share this wonderful expanse with you.

Futaba checked the clock and realised that Yusuke was probably about to see a lovely late-summer sunset while her stomach was making the rumblies that only brunch would satisfy. Why would he wait for that to pass?

 **Futaba:** Dude your phone has a camera, send me pics.

 **Inari:** Oh! I had almost forgotten, thank you kindly!

She waited a minute or so before hacking straight in – of everyone’s phones, Yusuke’s had been the easiest to link up with without his permission (stupid thing didn’t even have anti-virus on it!), while also generally being the most boring (aside from phone numbers and a few low-quality mp3 files there was nothing there); she figured it’d save him a bit of time and effort, and she caught only a glimpse out of the camera lens before he actually took the picture.

Seeing the image blown up on her phone, though, she almost teared up at it.

It was a beautiful sunset, exactly as wonderful as he had described, reflecting off a glittering orange sea – an endless sea and sky of honey, the sun actually being blood orange rather than effing red; the image was only broken up by the long strip of sand, running along the bottom of the sea like a wedding band. The bottom edge of the sun almost skimmed the top of the water, creating what looked like a gourd of red light in the sky and sea.

 **Futaba:** Holy shit Inari, it’s gorgeous

 **Futaba:** Where’s the nearest save point? I wanna warp there

Yusuke took a moment to respond, haltingly.

 **Inari:** I didn’t actually send you the picture yet…how on Earth did you do that?

 **Inari:** I suppose I wouldn’t understand, even if you told me.

 **Futaba:** >:3c

 **Futaba:** So how come you’re not painting that? Seems kinda silly to waste it.

It took him so long to answer that she’d gently manoeuvred the cat from her lap and into the computer chair, gone down stairs and made herself some instant ramen by the time his responses began to appear, one after the other; she blew deftly on her food and waited for the steam to fade from her glasses before reading.

 **Inari:** As difficult as our trip the other day was, it did still inspire me for art.

 **Inari:** I thought, since we were meant to be going to Los Angeles, that I would be attempting a night scene of the city, all the glittering lights

 **Inari:** of civilisation striking out into the void, like stars studded into the earth; but here, the real stars are more visible, laid bare to my easel, unspoilt by man.

Futaba should have been surprised when Sentarou had texted her a picture of Yusuke sitting on the beach, face obscured by that same hoodie (he’d captioned it with “Look what the fox dragged in!” which was such a terrible joke that she had to laugh at it anyway); hearing that Yusuke had been forced to go to Hawaii because he’d cursed his entire class with terrible weather somehow didn’t shock her at all. It was nice to see him take advantage of everyone else’s inconvenience, though; the thought made her grin.

Her phone pinged again and knocked that grin right off her face.

 **Inari:** I also thought back to seeing you on the beach, solitary and striking in the sunset – the two ideas combined, and created a desire to paint a bright orange sunset.

 **Inari:** As lovely as this sight is to behold, I need to wait and let the light begin to fade into darkness, before capturing the beautiful whirlpool of stars above me.

 _He was thinking about her on the beach?!_ Her heart skipped a beat, her face heating.

She knew she had nothing to fear from him now, he wasn’t that kind of guy – she’d heard all about how the delightful Ann Takamaki allegedly held no sway over him – but the idea of him even thinking of her in any state of undress was just a little bit awkward considering the failed "date" they had been on.

Especially with that swimsuit! She'd hated it when she first saw it, and being in public with it on was mildly uncomfortable regardless of the mental preparation she'd done beforehand. Looking in the mirror, she hadn't entirely recognised herself and she wasn't sure why.

Even if she could wear the swimsuit without feeling weird, there was something a little bit odd about Yusuke that made her like that, always … what was it …?

Either way, it felt very different to how she felt about Joker. Her face reddened even more thinking about him, although she wasn’t sure why; she felt so calm when Sentarou was around, so soothed, that there was no way she could be feeling tense or embarrassed. She didn’t feel as if she were expending any energy to be with him … hmm, but what was this feeling …?

Perhaps, she thought, burying her face into her knees with shyness, she just thought Sentarou was bammin’ slammin’ bootylicious? She knew what _that_ felt like, and this didn’t feel too far off from that …

Futaba realised with a jolt that her phone had been pinging quite consistently; looking at it, she found at least seven unread messages. She opened up the most recent one and began to read:

 **Inari:** Although the use of bright colours might be too easily compared with Monet, it is the brush strokes that would identify a true copycat of his style – my intention is to deviate from his technique with …

Lord alive, his phone will _devour_ his finances at this point. Futaba gave up and facepalmed, but not unkindly; she’d understand what Yusuke was talking about a lot better if she read them all in order and remembered what he said at the planetarium, she figured.

 **Futaba:** Don’t ruin the surprise for me, Inari – tell me about it when you’ve finished it, ‘kay?

 **Futaba:** I wanna see a masterpiece!

His answer dripped arrogance so marvellously that she could almost hear him chuckling, as if he were in the room with her.

 **Inari:** Oh, I believe you shall.

Futaba snorted and decided not to deign to give him with a response. Hopefully, she thought, he’ll follow through on that promise.

If there was anything about him that confused her, she thought, she was contractually obliged to figure it out soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super behind my original schedule for this fic, but honestly things have been super hectic for me lately. I was stuck in a general malaise! My partner then got a job! We've moved in together! LOCUSTS!!!! IT WASN'T MY FAULT I SWEAR TO GOOOOD!!!!
> 
> Anyway this is like a mini chapter because the next one would be ridiculously long - already I've done more for this than my dissertation. Still, it's progressing! Every little bit helps! I'm feeling good about this.
> 
> Even this bit is longer than it was intended on being because I realised that I wanted to have it that Futaba fancies the protag, along with other things, but I hadn't had much of that in the next chapter so I put it here. Hopefully it won't come across as too much of a surprise.
> 
> Title comes from the Kate Bush song "An Endless Sky Of Honey", a 45-minute long masterpiece about the passage of light on a summer day - there's also mentions of an artist trying to paint the summer scenery at this point in the piece, so it felt appropriate.


	4. Dark Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futaba and Yusuke research a new target, and Yusuke reveals a deeply-hidden wound.

Friday 16th September, 20XX

A lot had happened that week that Futaba honestly hadn’t seen coming. Morgana had left, there was this new palace and – possibly maybe – a new thief.

Futaba’s immediate and overwhelming thought about this “beauty thief” was that she was wearing boyish clothes in girlish colours and something about that both thrilled and disquieted her; not too dissimilar from how she felt seeing Ann in that catsuit, but also not far off from how she felt seeing herself in her Oracle get-up.

The “beauty thief” also seemed nice, so that too.

She had shown the others her research – had asked Yusuke to read it aloud to them, at that. There was something about all of it that felt too heavy for her to lift by herself, but she saw him there and decided that, as her Player Two, he could help her lift it into the light with her. Just like she’d thought he would, he complained but did it anyway.

He’d given her a strange look before they parted ways, but she thought maybe she had imagined it.

Now, though, she was reading his most recent text, _still_ unsure of why her face felt warm.

 **Inari:** The others suggested that we get together and do research – would you like to bring your laptop to my dormitory room?

 **Inari:** We can consider this step one into our deal, as well as the second half of a fair exchange.

 **Inari:** I have been in your room, after all – it is only fair I let you into mine.

Futaba had the uncomfortable vision of Sojiro lecturing her about being alone in a boy’s bedroom, giving her whatever condensed and awkward version of The Talk that he felt like giving her; the temptation to Just Say No was almost overwhelming but yet again, his logic remained so sound that she couldn’t think of a reason not to go.

She would tell people that – that she couldn’t see why she _shouldn’t_ go – rather than admit that maybe, just a little bit, she actually _did_ want to see what his room was like.

 **Futaba:** Alright then – I do need to get used to other people’s rooms, anyway. You better clear some space for me!

 **Inari:** Excellent! I trust you can find your way to Shibuya train station by yourself? I will meet you there – you need a key to get into the dorms.

 **Futaba:** Yeah, I can get there okay. See you in a bit?

 **Inari:** Yes, see you soon.

Futaba readied her things, her mind going back to when Yusuke had been in her room last – did he have anything that she was forbidden to touch? Was everything messy, or spotless? He was so precise and poor that it wasn’t beyond her to think that his room would be minimalist and immaculate, filled only with his art supplies … but art itself was a messy process. Besides, weirdo or not, he was an absent-minded teenage boy with no one to tell him to clean up – would that make a difference? She wasn’t sure.

She heaved the bag over her shoulder, music filtering into her ears as she wrote Sojiro a note and sent a text explaining where she was before she headed out of the door.

She couldn’t help but feel that the train journey would be awfully lonely without him.

\--

Yusuke was already waiting for her when she stumbled out of the train doors, fidgeting and trying to watch out for her. Seeing other Kosei students filter on and off of different trains like ants dipping into the crevice of a building, she noted with interest that he didn’t wear his uniform to regulation standards; the required cardigan was missing, and his shirt was the wrong colour. He waved her over when he caught sight of her, relaxing somewhat.

“You arrived safely,” he said, giving her an amused smile. He still had his school bag on him, the strap digging into the same shoulder he always seemed to be trying to stretch out. “I’m glad – I hope the journey didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Why do you sound like a train loudspeaker all of a sudden?” Futaba said, squinting up at him. She caught him grin for just as moment like a camera flash. “I am here though, so show me your dungeon!”

“I … beg your pardon?”

Futaba liked that she was starting to memorise that wide-eyed expression of his, his surprise always reminding her of some kind of startled deer.

It was … an _interesting_ expression. Interesting and _funny_.

“Yeah, you know, like … your lair!” she hastily finished, avoiding comparing his room to a palace at the last second. “Your stomping ground where all the magic happens! Show meeee!”

“I think I understand what you mean – like a mad scientist’s laboratory, yes?” he clarified, tilting his head to the side, his fringe fanning a little with the movement.

Hmm, what was that? Just poking out from underneath those strands, what could that be?

She realised too late that she was staring at his face, noticing the way his hair just brushed his cheekbones like the wing of a crow, his dark eyes matching in shade and intensity …

Futaba snorted – of course stupid Inari wouldn’t know a video game reference if it bit his hand off. He’d probably never even seen a video game up close! “Or a mad artist’s workshop of horrors! I mean, who knows what you have going on in there!”

Yusuke had another wide-eyed look. “Mad …? Horrors?” He seemed to shrink a little, perhaps remembering where they were. “I may be in an art slump, Futaba, but I assure you I still have _some_ talent.”

“That’s not what I meant by – urgh, forget it!” Futaba huffed. She glanced back up at what was now a … down? Mildly sad kind of expression? “Okay, weakness spotted and noted. Hehe, I should take advice on how to do this from Queen, maybe!” she said, her face breaking into a wide grin. “So yeah, let’s make like adventurers and dungeon crawl!”

“I still don’t understand the reference, but I’ll take you to my room nonetheless,” Yusuke said, bemused in a way that even she could see. He turned and made strides towards the right platform and Futaba followed as quickly as she could behind him – Futaba herself being followed by unsubtle whispers and multiple pairs of eyes like a demented, two-man conga line.

The train clatter was tolerated by Futaba’s new strategy; on the way, she took the opportunity to infodump at him about basic RPG structure and he nodded along every now and then, otherwise not saying anything; even as she felt herself slip into the flow of that state, that almost unconscious outpouring of thought, it wasn’t the most pleasant of locations to talk to him in.

She wondered a little bit if these things would ever be more comfortable for her, regardless of who she was with. The thought of only being close to her Key Item and her sort-of dad saddened her a little.

After a brief walk from the station, Yusuke took her to a building that seemed no different than some of the fancier sets of apartments that you got in Tokyo sometimes, long corridors rather than tall skyscrapers; even so, when he held the front door open for her, she was surprised at just how many doors each corridor they passed through had – about ten each side. Even though she kept up the flow of words and information, she was still aware of how, every now and then, they’d pass by someone and her heart rate would spike at the way they’d stare at her.

The girls would giggle and chatter and gape like she had two heads, while the boys stared at her like she was an alien being, but like one of those PhysioWare aliens with the blue skin and cool powers and overwhelming sexiness.

 _Fresh meat_ was the only phrase to come to mind and it made her shiver with revulsion.

She knew it was because she was associating with the local weirdo, probably maybe, but from the second she’d arrived, she’d noticed people glancing her way, her senses honed to notice the change in atmosphere.

Yusuke himself didn’t seem to notice or care, his field of interest so singular as to block out any unwanted distractions. Or perhaps he had simply resigned himself to it? She couldn’t tell at all how he felt, really.

She walked with him for what felt like ages, Yusuke taking many sudden turns in a way that made her think that he was deliberately trying to confuse her (times like this, she loved her memory for what it was – knew that she’d be able to make her way back here with surprising ease, if he were to let her back in another time), before he finally stopped in front of a door as nondescript as all of the others.

He turned to look at her, having not spoken at all for the past ten minutes. “I deeply regret having to cut you short, but here we are.”

“Aww man, I was just getting to sub-classes and stuff! You know, if we were in some kind of RPG, you’d totally be a warrior class of some kind.”

“Hmm, and not a … rogue, was it? Are they not like thieves?” he queried.

She stared at him, eyes wide with excitement and shock. “Yeah, that’s it! You levelled up! Boosted intelligence stat!” she squealed, starting to jump up and down on the spot.

She heard a mutter and what was perhaps a sneer from the other side of the hallway, her feet instantly filled with cement. She looked up to see Yusuke … ah, _that_ look was on his face again, that frosted look, but it wasn’t pointed at her at all …

“Come now, Futaba – I believe we have some work to do?” he said, still not looking at her. She heard more muttering and the shuffle of feet, a door banging shut just as Yusuke clicked his open.

Finally his expression thawed and he looked at her, smiling like the first day of spring. “Welcome to my parlour,” he said as he swung the door open and bowed, arms stretched to the side to wave her in.

“Urgh, sometimes you just can’t resist being a total creeper! You gonna blow up on me or what?” she griped, rolling her eyes at him.

Futaba crossed the threshold and her eyes were assaulted with colour and brightness. She reassessed her earlier thoughts and realised that while she had maybe imagined it as being a little messy, she hadn’t imagined how _busy_ his room would be.

There were hardly any surfaces that were left uncovered: the desk was being consumed by homework and sketch-pads like mould on cheese; the floor had a rough layer of newspaper on top, bright smears of paint breaking up the enforced greyscale of the print, small flecks of it encrusting the tiny patches of wooden panelling the paper had failed to protect; and the walls, oh, the _walls_ transformed his room into a gallery. What had clearly started with just the corkboard in front of the desk had escalated, expanding outward like an exploding star until almost nothing was left; the only clear space seemed to be the ceiling, which, like hers, was peppered with glow-in-the-dark stars. Stacked against the wall were two piles of what appeared to be finished canvases, although some of them were emptier, or had big crosses through them. All of his other, non-artistic possessions were stacked on top of the small set of shelves above the desk, crammed together in a way that made her think he had tried to pose everything into some kind of pattern, failing due to the lack of space.

Despite how comparatively sparse the room was, there seemed to be something interesting going on in every inch of available space; Futaba absolutely _adored_ it.

Still, she did feel slightly deflated at seeing how close together the walls were, and how he only had a tiny sink and microwave to call his own. “What, no fancy en-suite? No private kitchen? This is an elite school!” She tore her eyes away from the sight, catching Yusuke’s hands making that frame before dropping suddenly to his sides.

“Yes, and this is also the centre of Tokyo. There are communal kitchens and baths that I make regular use of, if it truly concerns you.” He shrugged his bag off of his long-suffering shoulders and collapsed down onto the futon, his breath leaving him in a long sigh before he stretched out his arms, the elbow joint on one side making a click. “I don’t like going to sleep without a bath first, you know – if it weren’t for the bath on campus, I’d still be rooming with Sentarou, no doubt about that.”

“There’s a shower at Sojiro’s house – I just use that once he’s gone to open the cafe.” Futaba didn’t feel the need to tell him that, before she’d met everyone, she only showered about once a fortnight at best, only feeling the need to do it when her hair had started to stink too much around her face. The girls had made sure she was all scrubbed up and nice; now, she had no idea how she’d physically been able to stand it.

Taking a discreet sniff into the air, she could at least appreciate that the place didn’t smell like she’d been expecting a teenage boy’s room to smell (Sentarou’s room smelt too much like cat hair and the waft of the café below for it to be classed as a neutrally clean-smelling place).

Futaba sank onto the edge of the futon, trying very hard not to touch his outstretched legs with any part of her behind; as she was beginning the arduous process of untying her boots, she glanced up and saw it, placed on the top of one of the canvas piles.

“Wait, is that the painting you were doing?” she asked, looking back at him, seeing his expression twist into some caricature of distress.

“I apologise,” Yusuke said, “I promised you a masterpiece, while this is merely … adequate.” Irritation was plain in every tense part of him. Futaba scrutinised the painting more closely.

“It’s … it’s kind of rad, Yusuke.”

It was, too, even though she didn’t have the highest opinion of his “artistic vision”. Rather than being one of his abstract paintings, it was, quite simply, a sunset; the corners of the canvas were crammed so full of stars that it was tricky to see the sky itself, subtly set out in gorgeous shades of navy and violet. The sand was almost a golden-white from the lighting with little peaks like pyramids, given shape by the sharp shadow – and the lighting itself, the warm yellows and oranges as the final dregs of that sweet honeycomb sunset he’d shown her before, sinking into a sharp band of red cutting across the horizon, the brightness of it somehow not detracting from the corpulent shining moon hanging high overhead, overseeing his artist’s hand. There was something almost unnerving about it, so naturally it appealed to everything she thought was cool.

Or at least, it would have – looking at it more closely, she felt that there was … she wasn’t sure, something _missing_ …

“It’s unfinished, is what it is,” he replied, sighing, “And certainly not of the quality that I was hoping for. I suppose my only option for that competition is for … but what if it doesn’t come out right …?”

“Aaaand I lost him again. Oh well,” Futaba muttered to herself, dispatching with her boots. She reached over and grabbed her bag, aware of being so physically close to him and still not being sure of her comfort with that. “Do I take the desk or…?”

Yusuke snapped out of his self-reflection. “I suppose that’s sensible. Let me just clear some space …”

The room was so small that all he had to do to clean the chair for her was lean over a not-uncomfortable distance. She smirked when he had to remove several books from the seat first – she had that problem so often with her own room, it was ridiculous – and had to make a pile of schoolwork at the end of his futon so her laptop didn’t ruin it. When he was done, he pulled out a book from his bag – “The Staggering Success of Kunikazu Okumura,” by some guy who wasn’t Kunikazu Okumura but had probably been paid a king’s ransom for the good coverage.

“Huh, I didn’t know you could read.”

She couldn’t help but smile just a little bit when he glanced up and then, exaggeratedly, at the clock.

“Oh my, look at the time. I suppose Boss will want you home soon – what a shame, I guess you’ll just have to leave,” he said, as deadpan as humanly possible.

Hurriedly claiming the desk chair for herself, she made a show of putting her bag down heavily beside her. “Just try it, Inari,” she said, crossing her legs on the chair (if her heels rubbed against the material a little bit, well, she was sure Inari would understand the concept of claiming one’s territory).

She’d caught the look on his face, happily read it as an amused smile, and found herself relaxing a little bit more into his space – brilliantly, since she looked up and found herself face to face with his shelves. Instantly she noticed a beaten-up, combination radio and CD player on the bottom layer, surrounded by a meagre collection of CDs.

 “Oooh, wait, let’s see here” she said, precariously clambering onto the desk to check the titles, ignoring in her haste his indignant cries as her knees scuffed the few pages he’d neglected to clear away. The plastic cases on most of the CDs were cracked, the shelf itself a little dusty.

“Hmm … Kuin: The Greatest Hits, Kat Kush: The Whole Brownie, Rockabilly: The Ultimate Highlights Collection, Ultimate Motown Collection, The Johnson Five, Rockabilly: The Final Ultimate Highlights, and … who the hell are ‘Forge Verynice and The Terminators’?!” She listed them all while batting at his hands as he tried to encourage her down. “Geez, Inari, is anything in here younger than thirty?! You’re such an old geezer!”

“As if your music tastes are somehow superior to mine! Besides, I usually use that for the radio function.”

“Oh? What channel, old man?”

Yusuke’s face turned scarlet. “The … morning work-outs …”

Futaba grinned at her point well-presented. “Just like an old man! Although it must be a fight to find the space in … here …?”

Just behind the CD player, in amongst the wild thrum of images surrounding them, one caught her eye; rather than a swirling mass of stars, it depicted a turbulent sea littered with icebergs. It was filled from corner to corner with sharp edges in the ice and foam, short clipped waves illuminated by a jagged fork of lightning, all of it seeming to pour from a navy orb right in the centre.

If the night scene he’d painted didn’t say much, then this one screamed and hollered.

“Oh, that’s one of mine,” Yusuke said, following her gaze. “I remember painting this one. It was … I suppose ‘intense’ would be one way of describing it. Can you please get down from there? You’re ruining my homework.”

“Ah, sure.” Shuffling back into the chair, it didn’t take long for her laptop to take her place on the desk and hum into life, glowing with ethereal power. Beside her, Yusuke settled back down onto the futon and stuck his nose in the book with no time to waste.

“You gonna tell me about it?” she asked, her eyes already settling on her laptop screen.

“Do you really want to hear that story?” he replied, the hesitation there going over her head.

“Sure, this deal is meant to make me know you better, right?”

“ … I’ll tell you later,” he said, not looking up.

She supposed that for now, they were done with talking; her awareness slipped fully into the screen before her and she thought that suited her just fine.

For at least an hour, they remained like that, working in companionable silence; every now and then, he would read something aloud and she would make note of it diligently, or she would call him over to look at something she’d found that might be interesting.

It was strangely comfortable, she would think in hindsight – he wasn’t draining her energy just by being there, and she stopped feeling quite so out of place. It felt … nice? She wasn’t sure.

By the time Yusuke broke her out of her trance by slamming the book shut and discarding it onto the desk beside her computer, the sun was hanging low in the sky, painting the room in cider-yellow.

“Oh, you done?” she said, not quite able to drag her eyes away from the screen yet; the long pause that followed didn’t seem that odd to her, right up until he sighed long and low.

“That painting,” Yusuke began, the solemnity in his voice finally capturing her attention, “was painted after I got into my first fist-fight.” He pulled his knees up, resting his chin on the peaks. “I suppose the only fight I’ve ever been in, disbarring the Metaverse. I named it something rather profanity-filled, but I believe Madarame re-named it to ‘Storm's End’.”

Well, there was … a lot to unpack in that statement alone. She wasn’t entirely sure which thread to pick up and follow, so she went with what she thought was easy.

“What did they do to start the fight?”

Futaba felt her nerves start to squirm in her guts – God, what a stupid question! She thought, a jolt of adrenaline pulsing out of her head – the movement spreading to the rest of her body when he looked up at her through his fringe, cool and analysing.

“What makes you think that they started it?” he asked wryly, watching her closely. Her anxiety had begun to settle in her, her mind taking her back to that cold look he could dish out.

“IIII … Uuuuh … IDK, I just don’t think you’re that kinda guy!”

The silence dragged for a while until she could bear to look at him. When she did, she saw with lung-emptying relief that he was smiling.

“Thank you for believing that, Futaba. You’re not wrong - I will say that this was the only time in the real world in which I have physically retaliated when someone had treated me with cruelty. These older boys, after many weeks of harsh words, had deliberately torn a canvas that I had been working on.” He paused, eyebrows narrowing. “I saw what they had done, heard their laughter and elation over their misdeeds, and just … I lost all reason. I threw myself at the ring-leader and struck him until my hands bled.”

Her nerves had abated, free of that gaze, but she still wasn’t sure how to tread. She glanced at his hands and she could see it then, the faint slivers of scar tissue there – she had imagined feeling it before, but hadn’t been able to see it before to verify the sensation. Her mind raced, trying to find a topic when all it could focus on were those hands; even she was surprised to hear the question “Did you win?” emerge from her mouth and she clamped her hands over her mouth, as if to pull the words back in.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The fight! Did you, erm, win the fight?”

He laughed at that, grim in the way Yusuke had shown himself to be before. “Not at all. I remember hitting this boy until my arms ached, but eventually one of his friends struck me on the brow with … I believe it was a stone or brick of some kind? A hard object, at any rate.”

Futaba gasped at that, hating that she could imagine it so clearly – a small boy lying on the grass, blood pulsing out of his hands and head, tears drying on his cheeks …  she reached across and took hold of his shoulder, not even thinking about it. He placed his hand on hers, the lightest pressure settling across her bones.

The smile he gave her was brief, thankful.

“I was concussed for several days, the most concerting element of which being that I couldn’t see anything in that time,” he continued, almost gently. “Madarame-sen- … Madarame seemed very upset at the whole affair. He treated my wounds, made a case to the school for me to not be punished as badly as I could have been … it occurs to me now that he only started to punish me himself once my coordination and sight had come back.”

Yusuke’s expression darkened at the mention of Madarame, frustration fuelled at the half-uttered honorific. Futaba studied his face, that cold look, wanting to understand it – the exact way it clouded over as he remembered his sensei, the lighting-crack change when someone insulted him or his friends.

Yusuke had a temper that he tried, desperately, to contain; it occurred to her that his old sensei had simply known how best to make him point that temper away from the true source of his frustrations.

It made Futaba angry herself to think of it.

“When they told Madarame what happened,” Yusuke said, closing his eyes, “well, he only developed a taste for corporal punishment when I and the other students were older and never as a punishment for physical aggression. His logic was that hitting someone in order to teach them not to hit others seemed counter-productive.

“His favoured method until then was to put us in time-out – we had a chair in one of the rest areas where we would have to sit and face the wall until we had either calmed down, or naturally come to the realisation of why our actions were wrong. I used to think it was to teach us how to be calm … I wonder, in hindsight, whether it was simply because we annoyed him, and it removed us from his sight …”

Futaba, stooped so she didn’t have to let go of his shoulder, got out the chair and knelt on the floor beside his futon, feeling the tension in his muscles through her hand. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“He hit you, too?” she asked, voice shaking a little. He opened his eyes to look at her, slowly.

“Hit me ‘too’? Futaba?”

She pulled her hand away, as if burnt. Lying on the floor, reeking hair in her face, throbbing cheek, looking up at the kitchen counter and seeing the knives in the rack, mind racing, shallow breath.

Futaba shuddered. “Sorry,” she gasped, seeing his face, pity and oh, even worse, _empathy_ written there, “You need to be near the end of my side-quest to unlock that part of my backstory.”

Yusuke paused and nodded. She didn’t need to say any more, she thought – he knew enough to not prod.

“At this point, he did not lay a hand on me. But he locked me in that room, letting me out only when it was deemed to be necessary until he thought I had learnt my lesson. I was to never bring disgrace to his name in such a way again – losing my temper in such a public fashion was not allowed …”

“And that turned into being angry at all being forbidden too, right?”

“…Exactly. I suppose it frightened him, the idea that I could rebel against him one day. Or do something worse.”

“Worse?”

Yusuke paused, a little too long.

“… What was it you said before? About unlocking …?”

Futaba nodded as if she knew why this was a sore point when she didn’t. “Alrighty then. Where does the painting come into this?”

The pain drained out of him, slowly but surely as he spoke. “Well, once Madarame had judged my attitude, and decided that I was properly repentant, I was allowed out to paint again … and that was the first thing I did, because I had stopped being angry at those boys and had instead become angry at _my sensei_. I channelled every bit of my frustration into it, and when it was done I felt complete again.”

Futaba looked back up at it, every angle and gleaming shard of jutting light in a new context. She smiled, somehow.

“It’s a fantastic painting, Yusuke. I’m sorry about what went into it, though.”

Yusuke let out a small huff of breath, glowing a little at the praise but still not happy. “Well, as harsh as the punishment was, I can understand his point somewhat – one cannot simply punch everyone the moment things don’t go as planned.”

“… But it’s okay to be angry sometimes. Anger is – can be – a tool for better things, like energy. Those guys hurt you, and you tried protecting yourself from that hurt. I think if I’ve learnt anything as a Phantom Thief, it’s that!” Futaba pressed, taking a hold of his hand.

Yusuke let out a sigh, and oh, his smile – a true relaxed smile – was still really … not cute! Some other synonym! Still nice, though!

“Yes, I agree. We have carved new futures for ourselves with that much-feared rebellion, haven’t we?” He looked up at the painting again, humming. “My problem is that I cannot remember the name I had originally kept in mind for it – Madarame named it in the end, and I’m not certain how I can overwrite that title, although I want to.”

Futaba followed his eyes, really took in all the details, let them cycle round in her head for a moment. “… Dark Matters.”

“Hm? Hmm …”

He closed his eyes, almost meditative. “Yes, that will do nicely. Dark Matters – the subject is violent and turbulent, but not so much as the story behind it. In every respect, it deals in dark subjects and themes … not bad, Futaba.”

“Mwehehe, I’m not bad at this art business myself! Could I have a secret dual-spec skill that I hadn’t unlocked ‘til now?” Futaba joked, grinning at his new irritation. Familiar ground had been found and settled on again.

“Please do not get ahead of yourself, Oracle. If you presented me with a new masterpiece of art, then we can discuss your talent.”

“You wanna get striked?” Futaba griped, not sure if she wanted to get into this kind of sparring match with him after a story like that.

After a pause, Yusuke chuckled. “I jest, Futaba. It has been … strangely nice, telling you that story. There are so many in my heart that I haven’t been able to share with anyone before. If our deal is to work, we should be able to open our hearts – I have already seen parts of yours, so I felt that this was fair.”

Futaba couldn’t help smiling, her face strangely warm. “Yeah, it’s fair. You’re a good guy, you know that?”

Was he blushing now? He turned away from her, either way. “I don’t know that, no. But I thank you for saying so.”

He squeezed her hand – she’d forgotten they were touching! – before taking it and bringing it towards his face. Up under his fringe and she could feel it there, thick scar tissue branching close enough to his hairline that it would be difficult to see, unless he showed it off.

He was showing it off to her now, she thought.

“…From where they hit you?”

He hummed in affirmation. “No one else knows I have this.”

“Oh. That’s…yeah.” They both smiled at each other, a long moment of … she couldn’t tell, but it was special anyway.

He let go of her wrist and after a few seconds, tracing that texture one last time, she pulled away. Futaba coughed, a bit awkward now.

He glanced out the window, seeing that the sky was now a deep ruby shade. “It’s gotten dark. Please leave.”

“Hey, that’s more like something I would say! You’ve gotta have better social skills than I do, Inari!” Futaba said, laughing from the abruptness of it. “But uh, yeah. I should go,” she said, flustered.

“Yes, that’s what I just said. Do you want me to escort you back to the station?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice. Let’s make like a banana and split!” she said, getting to her feet and packing away as fast as she could.

The walk back was quiet, but looking up at him, she wasn’t sure they needed to say anything more. For some reason, Futaba bowed when she said goodbye to him, and watched as he disappeared back up the platform steps into the street.

The whole journey back, she thought of the textures of Yusuke’s skin, unharmed and reformed. She thought, strangely, that she would be comfortable being in that room again, and wouldn’t mind feeling that smoothness again. That strange warmth returned, although Futaba felt no sense of panic behind it – it simply was, and she could mull it over in her own time.

Perhaps the next time they were in the Monamobile, she could rest her head on his shoulder, or he could rest his atop her legs. She thought of that long moment of touch, and thought that perhaps he wouldn’t mind so much either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously hope this chapter is good considering the length of time I spent trying to write the thing. Alongside life running away from me, I just couldn't get the motivation to do this one - it was the one I had the least amount of planning for, but I think I did okay?
> 
> One thing that's making me laugh to myself a little bit is that they've been way too touchy-feely and sweet on each other than I ever intended, right from the start - a part of this chapter was trying to show her relax with him, and get more physically comfortable with each other. Futaba literally clings to Yusuke in the manga - how does she work her way up to that, dating or no? I'd like to think this escalation is in character though.
> 
> The scar actually came from a tumblr artist - I'll post the link here/give credit when it's not nearly bedtime - who headcanoned that Yusuke, like the other two Emperor boys (Kanji and Akihiko), has a scar on his left temple...the one that just so happens to be hidden by his hair... idk I just thought it was such a cool idea that I had to use it. I don't really think of Yusuke as an aggressive character, but he's a lot ruder than people give credit. This basically came from imagining him having the kind of lash-out meltdowns that I had as a child/teen, but being denied them, or otherwise having his anger invalidated. 
> 
> The title was one of the most difficult things - "Dark Matters" was originally the name of a much later chapter, but I realised it fit here better. It's a Leftfield song that always makes me think about space, even though it's an instrumental. The fake Madarame name for the painting is also named after a track from the same album.


End file.
